


Accidental Valentine

by The Hag (hagsrus)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: First Time, M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 14:40:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6011890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hagsrus/pseuds/The%20Hag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feb 14 2016</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accidental Valentine

So we're in the car, on the way back from one of those dead boring obbos that don't get any results, and old tall-dark-beautiful does one of his god's-gift smirks and says, "Oi, fancy a social evening?"

I know he's been working up to it again. Little "accidental" touches. Watching me sidelong. A bit too enthusiastic during bird-admiring moments. I've learned the symptoms.

I shrug and look out my side window. "Who've you got in mind? Not more air hostesses?" Can't let him see how I start to tense up with anticipation. 

"Ah, come on, Ray." That coaxing tone. Always gets me.

I let the silence linger.

"Nice home-cooked dinner?" he persists.

"What's on the menu, then?"

"Mixed grill? Sausages, eggs, bit of black pudding?"

I give him an eye-roll and return to the window.

"Okay, you do us your spag Doyle and I'll bring the wine. Red?" 

He's got a good source for wine. Comes up with some bloody lovely stuff. I've been trying to suss it out but so far he's kept it under wraps. I'll have to tail him one day, but he's usually suckered me into cooking at the critical time.

"White, then?" he persists. If I say anything he's got me agreeing. I grope round my mind for a quick escape, but nothing comes.

Perhaps because I don't want it to come.

I can feel it tingle all through me, the memory of his powerful body naked in my bed, naked in my arms.

And every time it happens I slide a bit further into - what? Daft, I know. Should never have started in the first place.

All the fault of that gorgeous plonk he brought when we were supposed to be entertaining two of his air hostesses for dinner and they both got summoned to work at the last moment. So he polished off his own and most of the missing girls' share of the meal, and we drank all the wine, and there was that kind of vibration that's been between us almost from the time we met, that crops up more strongly when we're alone, without the safety of women, like a guitar string set humming just at the edge of hearing, just waiting to be encouraged.

We were clearing the table and collided in the narrow space to the kitchen area, pressed body to body.

"Mind the plates," I said, and he reached past me and put them down on the worktop, then his arm was round me, tentatively, and I stood sort of paralysed. My usual reaction would have been to laugh and push him away, but wine and sexual frustration and a sudden surge of desire overcame my better judgment, and his other arm...

Our mouths...

Our hardening cocks...

A half-drunk stagger to the sofa, disentangling outer and underwear, groping for blood-gorged heat that so quickly exploded into shattering sensation...

Then I was sober again, fumbling for my handkerchief, mopping at both of us, feeling a kind of panic that what I'd been evading all my life had ambushed me, and regret that it had been so rushed and chaotic, like my first adolescent experiments, because this would never happen again, never have a chance to...

Bodie sang softly: "You'll never wank alone," and we both collapsed into hysterical laughter.

"Any pudding?" he asked hopefully when we had restored ourselves to some semblance of normality.

I served up the lemon cream cake from my friend Tony Gianelli's bakery, rich but not too heavy. I drank coffee and ate a small slice and watched old hollowlegs dispose of the rest. I watched his well-kept hands, watched his mouth and the muscles of his throat as he swallowed, until he set down his fork and pushed the empty plate away with a satisfied sigh. 

Then his lips curved in a little smile. "Fancy another go round? Proper bed?"

"No, mate. Quite enough of that." But I didn't say the words. The fire blazed up and I just nodded.

And was lost.

 

After that - well, we made lots of pissed-as-a-newt jokes and backed off for a few weeks. Female company at every opportunity. Oh, I enjoyed it as always, but I found myself thinking about him instead of the girl afterwards, remembering the sensations of hard muscle instead of sweet soft curves; the friction of cock against cock instead of the warm female engulfing; wondering how if would feel to take that rigid flesh into my mouth, to taste the unexplored masculine instead of the familiar feminine. Wondering if his mouth would feel different. Wondering...

 

But came the day when Bodie whistled those few bars from You'll Never Walk Alone, and caught my eye, and said: "I fancy that lemon cake something rotten." And there we were again, well dined and well wined, and in Bodie's case well lemon-caked. A bit more exploratory that night. We discovered the taste of each other, cautiously. We avoided the dangerous rear territory.

And again we backed off, and came together and backed off, but there was always that awareness between us, that vibration. Like a thread, tying me to Bodie. Only now he's tugging on that thread, pulling me closer, and I can't fathom if it's just the physical novelty for him, and when it wears off he'll be off on a new chase, or if it's something more.

Daft to be wanting something more.

 

And here we go again.

He's looking at me with a kind of hopeful certainty.

I could squash those hopes. Make a final refusal. Protect myself. But, against my saner judgment - "Red, then."

"And you'll get the lemon cake?"

"That's what you're really after, right?"

He grins. "The price of my fair white body."

I reach for my wallet. "Here - go and buy your own. On me."

"Nah. Not the same. But I'll be on you, right enough."

"Friday, then."

He looks happy. My gut - or something - gives a little twist of pleasure. Bodie. Happy.

 

Gianelli's often sell out of the best stuff, so I drop in before work on Friday morning. Tony G greets me with a wide smile as I move to the cake display and asks, "A special one for today?"

"The lemon - oh." 

"Valentine lemon." He waves proudly at the heart-shaped and decorated cakes.

I'd forgotten the day. "No, just a regular one, Tony." 

"Ah, not ready yet. All the specials early for the people on the way to work. Romance in the office, yes? About ten o'clock."

"I'll pay you for it now and get it this evening, so I don't have to wait around, all right?"

"Your young lady - not ready for the heart?"

"Not that kind of... No. Not yet."

I could just imagine Bodie's raucous response.

 

Cowley keeps us hanging about after we should have been gone. Familiar hazard, but irritating when the evening's planned. Better than being tapped for a last minute job, though.

"Look," I tell Bodie, "I need to do a couple of errands. Could you pick up the cake? It's paid for, just say it's for me." He nods, and I give him the address. "And don't go eating it on the way or I'll haul you over to casualty and get your stomach pumped!"

We exchange rude gestures and separate.

"Here you go," he says when he arrives at my flat. "One cake unmolested and two bottles of Chateau Bathtub."

"You can open those, then." I put the cake box out of harm's way and get on with the spag. He loiters around, brushing against me, occasionally swiping a bit of salad ingredient, and I aim my wooden spoon at his knuckles. I offer him a taste of the sauce and he licks his lips in approval. Those lips...

Happy. He looks happy. 

It’s good. The wine's even better than usual. Just coffee and cake to go before the main event.

He follows me back to the kitchen area with the empty plates and I undo the cake box. I stare, jolted. He looks over my shoulder.

"You trying to tell me something, Ray?"

"It's the wrong bloody cake! I ordered a plain one!"

"Oh." Does he sound disappointed? "Well, as long as it tastes right."

I slide the heart-shaped thing out and Bodie takes it back to the table and tucks in with his usual gusto. I'm disconcerted, embarrassed, and shake my head when he offers to cut me a piece. He scoops a forkful and holds it to my mouth, and I eat it, just to please him.

Just to please him.

He's happy.

 

Next morning I drop in at the bakery and Tony greets me with a wider beam than usual. 

"Good cake, yes?"

"I - uh - look, I owe you for - "

"No, no. Your friend paid the extra. Playing Cupid, eh? Just one special cake left in the case and when I brought yours out to put in the box he said to exchange it." He taps his chest. "The heart? She liked it?"

I nod, mumble something, and wave farewell. Find myself grinning like a fool, whistling that damn song like Bodie.

Not the accident I'd thought, then. 

He knew I'd find out.

Trying to tell me something, Bodie?

Perhaps we can skip the backing off part this time. Forget what's been off limits. Chuck caution overboard. Let the string hum into sweet music. 

We'll see.

Daft to feel so happy all of a sudden!


End file.
